


lofty timbers

by Accidental_Ducky



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Bonding, Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff, Found Family, Past Character Death, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accidental_Ducky/pseuds/Accidental_Ducky
Summary: The house is starting to decay, filled with sweet rot and peeling wallpaper.
Relationships: Nora Montgomery/Vivien Harmon, Violet Harmon/Tate Langdon
Kudos: 15





	1. as though the dead were there

The house is starting to decay, filled with sweet rot and peeling wallpaper. The ghosts don't notice it right away because they have their own drama keeping them busy. First it's just learning to coexist as a small leak starts in the attic with every summer shower, then it's banishing Hayden to the basement so that the new baby is safe even as the clay tiles of the roof begin to fall like autumn leaves. The Harmons have been dead for three years when Violet draws everyone's attention to the bulging wall in an upstairs bedroom.

"Mold," her father says with a grim frown. "There must be a leak somewhere above us. I'd better fix it."

"What's it matter," Patrick asks. He's leaning in the doorway and staring boredly at the swollen wall. From his position, it looks like a grape that's been squeezed between a child's fingers, purple and wet. "A little mold isn't going to kill us." Ben's lips press into a thin line and his glare might have been threatening if Patrick was still alive.

"It needs to be dealt with." Patrick shrugs and leaves the room, but he joins Ben in the attic the next morning to find the leak. It takes them all day and another rainstorm, but they find it and mark it with a red Sharpie before retiring downstairs to wait for the rain to stop. They may be dead, but there's no reason for one of them to fall off the roof or get struck by lightning if they can avoid it.

It's two days before the rain stops and by then they've recruited Constance's ex, the three of them climbing up on the roof and setting to work. They tear off old shingles and damaged tiles, repairing the roof as best they can and leaving a bald patch on the roof where there were no new shingles to replace the broken ones.

Three months later, Chad notices that a section of the living room floor is dipping slightly and they discover a termite infestation. They get the murdered exterminator on that, though he's hesitant to go into any crawlspaces. Behind the man, Tate laughs and stalks away.

The work never seems to end once they start looking for it, more and more of the ghosts joining in to help fix the old place up. If new owners move in, the ghosts whisper in their ears at night to buy supplies and leave them in the attic. It usually doesn't take much with the house whispering too, sweet pleas to be returned to its former glory.

The owners come and go, each of them leaving building supplies behind as they tear out of the driveway and down the street. Marcy, the real estate agent, says nothing when she notices the repairs. She knows there's something wrong with the house, but she's not going to burn sage if it means the door hinges are well oiled and the upstairs window is repaired. One day, Marcy vanishes and the ghosts don't even notice until a new woman shows up with a thousand watt smile and a pair of potential homeowners.

Vivien sees an article in that morning's paper about Marcy's death at some hotel downtown. She doesn't shed a tear or pretend to be sad; she has furniture to restore and that's more pressing than some woman who's never been any help. She sets the paper aside for whoever else wants to read it and returns to the sitting room.

"Does it feel weird to be in here," Chad asks. He's eyeing the space where a leather armchair and ottoman had sat, the wood floor showing no trace of where Vivien had bled out. She still feels pangs in her stomach, phantom contractions that make her ache for the life that might have been.

"No," she says, and moves on.

The new owners are Hispanic, Patrick thinks they might be Cuban but he's not sure. They're a friendly couple who laugh at the dinner table and don't fight. Patrick likes to eavesdrop, to watch the normalcy of a healthy relationship. They have fights on occasion, but it's nothing like the ones he and Chad have had.

"How do you think they'll die," Tate asks.

"Who cares? They'll either be dead or gone within the month." Patrick pushes off the wall and heads out of the dining room. He goes for the attic and sets to work on insulating it to offset the electric bill come summer. Tate joins him after a while and they knock the chore out before midnight.

"I'm sorry, you know." Patrick doesn't look at him, smoothing down the insulation that would have made a living person itch. "I don't…. I don't feel those dark things anymore, not since Michael was born." Patrick's shoulders are a tense line as he remembers the panic of dying, the confusion of waking up afterward.

"I know," he says. He turns to face Tate, feeling raw and hollow and so, so empty. He wants to lash out and feel his knuckles crack against Tate's perfect cheekbones, feel pain lancing through his hand and up to his elbow, but he doesn't. All the deaths laid at Tate's feet are no more his fault than Patrick's compulsive adultery. It's this fucking house.

"I think one of the stairs leading to the basement is fucked up if you wanna check it out with me."

They fix it together.

The sweet Cuban couple don't erupt into arguments or fights that get physical, but they do succumb. Mister Cabrera comes home from work late one night to find Mrs. Cabrera dead in the kitchen; she'd had a fatal heart attack while cooking dinner and Mister Cabrera drags her to the basement before shooting himself with his service weapon.

The entire house smells of burnt tamales for two weeks.

There isn't another couple for nearly six years, a pair of lesbians that have barely signed the deed. They're still surrounded by boxes when Michael comes home and murders them. He does something that sends a dark pulse through the house, the spirits burning away without leaving a trace of ash behind. They don't reappear and Michael is herded away soon after by a trio of Satanists.

That's when the ghosts start growing lax in their duties. The house keeps whispering, but soon the yard is overgrown and the mold has set in again. Without constant upkeep, the roof starts to sag and the termites find a new home, the gazebo collapsing into a pile of rotted wood.

The new realtor doesn't understand the sudden decline, but she moves on to new houses and passes Murder House on to a man. The man doesn't care either, he doesn't heat up vanilla extract in the oven to make the house smell like fresh cookies or buy fresh flowers to fend off the smell of decay.

The ghosts have come to a decision, a rare thing considering how they all like to argue with one another. They won't do any more repairs; the iron gate can rust, rain can warp the floors, woodland creatures can chew through the wooden support beams until the whole house collapses. "If there's no house," Constance says," then maybe we can all leave."

They grow content with the smell of old things, collapsing furniture and a flooded basement after a family of mice chew through a water pipe. They lounge around outside because the sun doesn't burn them and mosquitos don't notice them.

When the apocalypse happens—skies turning a violent red, nuclear missiles tearing through white clouds and turning the neighborhood to ruins—the Murder House remains standing. No other spirits remain aside from the ghosts who have died on the property, no real changes to be observed amongst the devastation. They still can't leave except on Halloween.

The ghosts all give small sighs and turn to face the house again, _their_ house.

"We're going to be stuck here for eternity," Patrick says with the hollow ring of realization in his voice. Beside him, Ben scrubs his hands over his face and kicks some of the splintered wood that litters the ground, throwing a baseball-sized chunk of Mister Henderson's windmill at the house across the street. Once the tantrum is over, Ben looks at their family and nods at the house.

"If we're going to be stuck here, then we might as well fix it up." They aren't free, they'll never move on, but at least the place they live in will look nice. They start at the foundation and work their way up, moving through the old stores come Halloween to take the materials they need and a few they don't. The twins and Violet dress up like a gaggle of vampires, which makes for a funny sight as they try to navigate a large cart through Lowes.

They get the house back up to code and then some, making it shine. Constance laughs one summer afternoon, looking around at the wreckage at the edge of the property line and confidently states that they would have won that stupid _nicest_ _house_ award the HOA hands out in the spring.

"Damn straight," Vivien agrees, a glass of iced tea in her hand. Nora, her eyes no longer red and raw from crying, actually _laughs_ at the prospect. It's a nice sound and a nicer sight as she leans against Vivien's side. Vivien and Ben may not be an item anymore, but it's nice to see that she's moved on to someone more worth her time.

One day they wake up and the neighborhood has been set to rights, the sun reflecting brightly off Mister Henderson's garish windmill. There's a squeal of tires that draws all the ghosts out onto the front porch in time to see an SUV back over Michael and run over him again before speeding off.

Constance stands over him and there are tears on her cheeks but very little mercy left in her heart. He's blubbering something and gesturing at the Murder House, but Constance straightens her back and stalks away. Michael dies in the street, covered in his own blood and snot and the ghosts continue to exist on the property.

The house no longer whispers, but they keep it looking nice and Constance accepts the award from the HOA on their behalf. It's placed on the mantle of the sitting room, surrounded by family photos. The whole house is filled with photos that Constance has developed and framed; Nora and Vivien on their second anniversary, Violet and Tate after they finally make up, Ben's angry expression when he catches Violet and Tate in the act of making up.

The house is no longer decaying or filled with sweet rot and peeling wallpaper.

The ghosts can't move on, but they've got each other and that's good enough.


	2. five little pumpkins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tate and Violet enjoy a night at the beach, Nora and Vivien read in a park, Hayden pulls Halloween pranks, Constance enjoys Travis, and Charles and Ben realize that Sir Mix-A-Lot isn't the best lullaby.

Halloween is Tate's favorite time of year, the most magical one, because that's the one time of year he can take Violet out on a real date. They both giggle that morning as they head out with a pocketful of cash and a plan in mind. They head straight for the Spirit Halloween that had sprung up in K-Mart, devouring the old store like a parasite.

"Should we do a couples costume," Tate asks. It's the first Halloween they've spent together in six years, but it feels like the first one. Well, up to the point where the Breakfast Club had showed up and ruined their date.

"God no, those are lame."

"Oh, check it out." He holds up a Zorro costume that's seen better days, grinning like an idiot. "I could totally pull this off." She smiles in return, pulling out a black dress that's been modeled after Wednesday Addams and comes complete with a fake knife. "Oh, that totally fits you!"

"I know, right? Mom and Nora should go as Morticia and Gomez."

"Which one would be Gomez?" They share a look and a dopey grin and Tate laughs. "Vivien, of course. I don't know why I had to ask." They shop for an hour longer, just enjoying the temporary freedom and the lack of constant whispering from the house. They end up spending almost two hundred dollars in the store, but who cares when money doesn't mean anything to the dead? These costumes can be reused whenever they want and Zorro will never go out of style as far as Tate is concerned.

"Let's get coffee," Violet says. She's already tugging him into a Starbucks before he can object, ordering for both of them and finding them a table where they can watch people walk in. She likes to slip into Judge Judy mode on cloudy afternoons, offering up scathing comments about whoever walks past the house. Violet and Tate drink their coffee, make snarky comments and spend the rest of the day at the beach. They don't get interrupted this time, so they lay back on a blanket to watch the sunset before pulling their costumes on to hunt out some candy from the richer neighborhoods. By the end of the night, they're breathless and filled with warmth for the first time since their deaths.

Hayden takes the twins trick-r-treating, spending the entire night helping them pull pranks on every house in the neighborhood. They wrap toilet paper around Mister Henderson's windmill, smash pumpkins that Constance has set out on the porch, and throw eggs at passing cars.

It's a good night and she laughs more than she has in six years. She and the twins become inseparable after that.

Nora Montgomery had never been fond of Halloween, the children had sticky fingers and the parents didn't control them well enough. Even when she was a little girl, she'd hide out with her father and they'd read together while trick-r-treaters knocked well past ten o'clock. She doesn't like Halloween, but that day provided so many good memories that it holds a special place in her heart.

"Do you wanna go out," Vivien asks. She's smiling and Nora loves the way it makes her blue eyes shine. Nora loves everything about Vivien from the faint scent of vanilla to the way she's always able to lift Nora's sadness. How could anyone be sad when they had a woman as wonderful as Vivien?

"Could we go to a park? Somewhere close by?" Vivien nods because she understands, she always does. Nora hasn't left the house since…. Since she was alive and being too far away makes anxiety curdle her stomach.

"Of course. I know a great place that has a fountain we can sit by." Nora nods with a soft smile, pressing a kiss against Vivien's cheek. She's comfortable with intimacy now, far more comfortable than she'd even been with Charles. "We could sit there all night if you want. We have no responsibilities tonight."

"What about Jeffrey?"

"Ben and Charles are responsible, which means Moira will make sure they don't drop him. He'll be safe, hon." She nods and allows herself to be led out of the master bedroom, snatching a book off the nightstand on her way out.

The sky is just starting to change colors when they come out onto the porch, a myriad of pinks and oranges and scarlets that all blend together into a beautiful picture. She thinks of the sunsets from when she was a child, thinks the colors had never seemed so vibrant. LA seems to have changed so much and not at all, the landmarks are different, but the people are the same. Parents run with their children, the smog softens the streetlights as they flicker on, the grass just starting to go brown as fall begins to give way to winter.

"It's beautiful," Nora breathes. "Oh, it's almost like I remember."

"We could walk around if you'd like." It's a sweet offer, but not possible in the kitten heels she's got on. Even ghosts can get blisters if their shoes rub the wrong way. Nora glances over at Vivien and then down to her own shoes and Vivien's smile broadens. "Or we could get to that park so your poor feet don't suffer."

"You've read my mind, my dear." They laugh all the way to the small park with the fountain. The benches are made of wrought iron and warm wood, roses twining along the curved feet and solid legs with an old gaslight standing sentinel. "This is gorgeous. We need one of these instead of that ugly gazebo." She runs her free hand over the sun-warmed iron, already picturing a garden beneath a pepper tree with this bench for her and Vivien to pass afternoons on.

"Maybe we can send Constance out to find us one." Nora hums and sits down, drawing Vivien beside her. One of Vivien's arms goes around her thin shoulders and Nora settles against her as naturally as breathing. It's so easy with her, so perfect. "What book did you bring?"

" _Once Upon a Winter's Night_. Violet let me borrow it."

"Oh God, I remember that book. She was just graduating into more adult literature and she got halfway through this before deciding manga was more interesting. I don't think she ever finished it."

"Good, that means she can't spoil the ending." Vivien laughs, a sound like bells to Nora's ears. She loves the sound, the faint vibration of it that rumbles beneath Nora's cheek. "I had just started the first chapter of _Fellowship of the Ring_ and the little troublemaker told me how all three books end."

"Yeah, she's a little shit, but she's _our_ little shit."

"Indeed." All the complaining aside, Nora really does adore Violet. The girl is the perfect balance between childhood and adulthood, the perfect age to talk with. She has such _spirit_ , such a glow about her that all the dark things in the house seem drawn to.

"Will you read to me? I like your voice." Nora hums and adjusts a little, still curled against Vivien's side with the book open in her lap. The pages are old and starting to curl at the edges, so Nora handles them with all the gentleness most people save for babies.

"They lived in a one-room, stone cottage on the edge of Faery," Nora reads. "There where the world ends and the mystical realm begins, there where golden sunshine abruptly becomes twilight all silver and gray…."

Charles and Ben know the basics of child rearing, they know how to cuddle and swaddle and kiss fat cheeks. What they don't know, however, is how to quiet a baby that doesn't take a bottle and refuses to take a binky. That's the point where Ben starts to realize he's never had to take care of a child this small by himself before.

"Maybe Viv has her cell."

"Interrupt their outing and Nora will make both of us pay," Charles grumbles. He's got Jeffrey cradled against his chest and he's been bouncing for the past three hours, doing his best to calm the baby. Jeffrey, however, knows these men are idiots and wants the whole world to know that as well.

"What if we sang to it?" Charles pauses and considers before shaking his head. "What? You afraid he won't appreciate your singing voice?"

"I don't know any songs meant for children." It's Ben's turn to pause because how the _fuck_ is that possible? How could you have a child in the house and not know something so simple as Hush Little Baby or Wheels on the Bus? Violet hadn't even been born yet and Ben had been humming that dumb teapot song while he graded papers.

"No songs?"

"The last song I remember isn't appropriate."

"Well, now I wanna know what it is." He wants to know if they actually made such songs in the thirties. Did they have their own slang terms that would send upper crust white people into fits of rage? Did kids listen to it secretly when their parents were asleep the same way Ben had listened to Paradise by the Dashboard Light?

"I don't know the name of it, but it spoke a lot about a young woman's derriere. I believe they said they like big bottoms and they just couldn't lie about it." Ben snorts out a surprised laugh that takes the air right out of him, hunching over as the fit makes his ribs ache and his lungs burn for air they don't need. "What's so funny?"

"You— You listened to—" Ben can't finish the sentence, he's laughing too hard at the song and the offended expression turning Charles' face red. "Oh God, I needed that."

"Well, if you're so gung-ho about singing, then go ahead."

"Fine, I will." He opens his mouth to belt out something, but his mind goes blank. All he can think about is Charles jamming out to Sir Mix-A-Lot, maybe head-banging or looking at the radio like it's just scandalized him. Had Tate been listening to it and Charles had stopped to listen, too?

"It's not so easy, is it?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking." He tries, he really does, but those lyrics won't leave his head and he feels like strangling Charles for getting it stuck there. He hasn't heard that damn song since the nineties and now it's all he can think about. _Fuck_. Is this what karma's like when you're already dead? Ben calls bullshit.

"Come on, Ben. Pick a song." Ben growls low in his throat and takes the baby back when Jeffrey's screaming goes up a pitch. "Your father is freezing up, Jeffrey. He can't even think of a children's song." Jeffrey doesn't understand, he just keeps screaming and Ben snaps. As Ben sings the entirety of Baby Got Back, Charles eventually joining in when Jeffrey actually starts to calm down, Moira perches at the top of the stairs and records the entire scene for the others.

Constance and Travis spend Halloween in her house, tangled together until sunrise teases the horizon and he's forced to go back to the house next door.


End file.
